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rising from the bowels of early 90’s college cover bands (“free fallin’” anyone?), schwa arrived to turn the power chord on its head.

• tim power on guitar, back to the audience, the sonic swirl of j mascis and thurston moore and anthony braxton swirling around his ringing ears. he wrote the songs that made the whole world thrash
• scott foster (“the prophet”) drawing on love and politics and disease, scraping layers of perry farrell’s dna and sprinkling them into his lyrics. the mic had a crush on him
• jon flick, boy wonder, bashes his kit, equal parts keith moon and brad pitt. a 4-track in his hands was a thing of beauty
• marthame sanders, whose name anagrammed to “thunder broom”, had the hair for it all. drips of lou barlow, mike mills, and greg ginn fell on the four strings
• joe carroll, animator, linesman, accordionist. a gentle giant with a squeeze box, he brought the melody in an overflowing suitcase

cassettes have piled up around the house for years; softly dissolving plastic bits of faded glory. then along comes the worldwide webbernet; they finally find a worthy home for the world to hear.